Page 84 of Hot Blooded

“You didn’t seem very happy about it.”

Amos shook his head. “That was a knee-jerk reaction. Saving him was the right thing to do. If you hadn’t asked me to, I would’ve regretted not doing it for the rest of my days.”

“Are you sure?”

Amos stroked his thumbs across her cheekbones. “I’m sure. Come on. Let’s clean up.”

They stripped out of their wet, blood-crusted clothes and got into the shower together. Amos sat patiently while Tessa made sure all the blood was scrubbed out of his hair and that his wounds were adequately cleaned—even though they’d heal within a few hours. In return, she relaxed while he lathered soap over her entire body, checking for any sign of injury.

Clean and calm, reassured of each other’s safety, Amos carried Tessa to the bed and tossed her onto it. He lowered himself on top of her, the gentlest of weights, pinning her down while his hands and mouth roved all over her body. Tender touches turned heated, heated touches turned hungry. His fingers dug into her skin, strong enough to leave bruises that his venom would soon heal. His fangs dragged over her skin, raising goosebumps in their wake.

Tessa was arching and gasping and begging for it when he finally braced himself above her, hips cradled between her thighs, and pushed into the soft, hot, clasp of her body. She let her thighs fall wider, arms stretched overhead, luxuriating in the feeling of Amos. Just Amos. Steady and strong and honest and safe. Mild-mannered, yet deadly. All that brute power simmering inside of him, and he unleashed it only for Tessa, whether he was fighting for her or fucking her.

As the first ripples of orgasm started to pulse, she threw her arms around his neck, wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him in close as the blinding pleasure washed over her. She felt his mouth moving against her throat—not biting, but kissing. Over and over again, breathing her name against her pulse as her inner muscles squeezed around him. He groaned, every muscle in his body drawing taut as his own climax crested. Warm, wet heat flooded inside of her.

His muscles eased and he lowered himself onto her, letting his weight crush her into the mattress while his cock remained buried inside her. His tongue swiped up the side of her neck right before his fangs pierced her. A few seconds later, she was arching and gasping again, crying his name as his venom turned her inside out with pleasure. He groaned against her throat as he drank from her, hips flexing in shallow little digs.

When Amos was sated and the effects of his venom had faded, he eased her beneath the covers and got up from bed.

“Where are you going?” Tessa murmured sleepily.

“To get you something to eat.”

“In bed?” she asked, faintly scandalized.

Amos chuckled. “Just this once.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead before he disappeared to the kitchen.

Much, much later, Tessa lay snuggled against Amos’s chest as the sun crested the horizon. Amos murmured nonsensically against her hair as daysleep tugged at him.

“What?” Tessa asked softly, not sure if he was even still awake.

“Are you happy?” he murmured, the words heavy with sleep.

She found his hand and curled her fingers into his. “I couldn’t imagine being happier.”

A soft purr resonated in his chest until, at last, he let sleep claim him.

Epilogue

Amos signed off of a video conference with an Australian client and pushed away from his desk. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, pausing to admire the green room—filled with lush, beautiful, and strange plants that all had finicky, absurdly particular needs that Tessa had somehow memorized and catered to. He admired her dedication, and he was grateful for it, too. Having a jungle room in the house was unexpectedly soothing.

As he leaned in close to examine a bright blue orchid, a vicious stream of cursing drifted in from the other room. Biting back a smile, he abandoned the plants. Leaning against the doorway of her craft room, he watched as Tessa wrestled with a giant snarled ball of thread and fabric stuck beneath the presser foot of her sewing machine.

“How’s the sewing going?” he asked wryly.

“Amazing!” Tessa fumed. “Can’t you tell by the couture gown I’ve created?” She gestured sourly at the tangled mess.

“It’s beautiful. You can wear it to dinner tonight.”

A barely audible sigh came from the other side of the room. Phillipe sat in the window seat, intently focused on the embroidery hoop in his hands. Taut white linen was embellished with a half-finished scene of a wooden ship on a stormy sea.

“Everything alright, Phillipe?” Amos asked.

His progeny looked up, watchful and still. He was wearing modern clothes—black jeans and a red sweater over a collared grey shirt—but there was something about him that still screamed Old World. While he was technically younger than Amos, having only been a full-fledged vampire for six months now, he’d lived for a little more than a century longer than Amos. By piecing together his few faint mortal memories, they’d been able to determine that he’d been living in Paris during The Terror, when Alex Markov had enthralled him. Then he’d spent the next several centuries enslaved to that cruel, despotic, mercurial sire.

As a result, he had a bone-deep distrust of vampires. But he’d made huge strides in building trust with Amos. He no longer flinched when Amos spoke, no longer tried to hide when he heard Amos moving around the house. He never sought him out intentionally, but he finally seemed able to comfortably tolerate Amos’s company. Somewhat surprisingly, he’d taken immediately to Etta when they’d been introduced.

But, by far, his favorite person was very obviously Tessa. An outside observer would be forgiven for thinking that Tessa was his dam. Phillipe was playful and relaxed in her company, laughing and bantering with her as if they were the oldest of friends.

---